It Happened On Monday
by Wind Spark
Summary: "Beautiful?" she asked, and he nodded. "Yes."  "Inspiring?" "Yes." "Fantastic?" "Yes." "Monumental?" "Yes." "Sad?" He paused a moment, watching the world through the glass. "Yes," he murmured. "Very."


_It Happened On Monday_

* * *

The moon had set by the time he finally emerged with the rest of the crowd.

It was one of the nicer theaters, with one of the more pricey budgets, and only the guests who could pay the heavy fee were granted entry into this sacred palace of the arts. She had never quite understood why he spent so much time watching silly little plays and dramatic productions, things she viewed as wastes of time and money. People obsessed with being characters other than themselves were decked in makeup and outlandish costumes and flounced about on stage, inviting the audience to distraction from their daily troubles.

Stupid really, she thought.

But he had always been amused by the plays, and the actors and actresses in them, or, more accurately, in their abilities to tell such beautiful lies.

She didn't understand. Why deal with more lies than you already had to? Why watch miniature dramas of deception and hate when your entire world was one?

She looked down at the brochure on the seat and grimaced. By now he would have been watching "Dunes of Sorrow" for over two hours. The play promised "a soaring musical score," "breathtaking exhibits of acting ability," "women so beautiful your eyes will pour tears of adoration," "a raw, authentic insight into the Ishbalan war," "a romance unlike anything the world has ever seen," "a passion that risked death," and "a surprise ending that will leave you hanging on the edge!" along with all the usual advertising jargons, promising spectacular effects, costumes, food, and the like.

She scowled again as the street light she read by was obscured by a passing car. The Ishbal war was over now, no longer so close to home that playwrights avoided the subject, yet not so much of a memory that it did not evoke emotion from an audience. The recent trend toward romanticizing the war annoyed her. It seemed almost sacrilegious to turn something that had been so terrible into a plaything for the minds of the rich.

Humans would be humans. She couldn't do anything to stop them.

It was finally ending. The early leaving visitors had begun to trickle out, those who were eager to get home and didn't have time to socialize, but she knew he would make his exit in the large throng that would soon follow, so that he would remain as inconspicuous as possible.

The huge, gold gilded doors swung open again and again, and she couldn't pick him out of the steadily flowing river of bodies; it was too dark, and there were too many uniforms. So it was only when he was a few yards away that she noticed him.

There was something different about the way he looked. He was concentrating on the road in a way that made her think he wasn't really seeing it, and when he opened the door and slid into the seat beside her, he didn't catch her eye like he usually did.

He stared straight ahead grimly, and she pulled into the road with a concerned frown on her face. Usually he was smiling about some scene or another, or already describing a particularly ridiculous moment to her, or some spoof on the actor's part. He didn't brood about plays, because they simply weren't important enough for that.

She pretended not to notice and made the customary inquiry.

"How was it?"

He grunted and frowned.

"It was… alright."

Three words. That was most certainly unlike him.

"Alright in a good way?"

He shrugged. She began to feel like she was pulling teeth.

"Was the acting good?"

"It was exceptional."

She fought down a sigh. "Was it very grand?"

"In a way."

"Was it horrible?"

"No."

"Beautiful?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Yes."

"Inspiring?"

"Yes."

"Fantastic?"

"Yes."

"Monumental?"

"Yes."

"Sad?"

He paused a moment, watching the world through the glass.

"Yes," he murmured. "Very."

She glanced over at the tone in his voice, but his eyes were hidden in the shadows.

"What was it about?"

He turned to her with a sudden bitter smile.

"Us."

Her breath caught slightly, and she stiffened, but there were no other reactions.

"Us, sir?"

"Us."

"What about us?"

"Well, it was all very dramatic," he began, using the kind of voice he reserved for when he was particularly upset, and had to revert to his most sarcastic so people didn't suspect that he actually had feelings.

"First, there was the war. Now do you remember fancy barracks with rooms for everyone and nice double beds? I don't think there were any, but I did get hit on the head pretty hard a few times, so I may have forgotten. I was always wearing a perfect uniform that looked fresh out of the tailors, and you're clothing seemed to be constantly falling off. Naturally, you found me extremely seductive and we were sharing meaningful glances barely a week after meeting, but restrained ourselves because of the fraternization rules."

"They didn't-?"

"No. They obviously don't know about your father, or I shudder to think what might have been included in our teen years."

"Oh."

"Oh, indeed. But they had plenty of opportunities without us growing up together. We progress quickly to lovers and soul mates for life after I heroically save you from an officer who attempts to rape you in the showers. (That's another thing. Do you remember showers?) Your towel gradually slipped off and the next scene opens with us in bed."

She choked a little.

"By that time I had progressed into a slight bit of a wreck because of all the people I'd killed, but of course, you convinced me that it was all for the good of the country and that the Ishbalans were murdering beasts. It was a rather nice bit of propaganda. And if I still had any doubt, you went out for a walk and stumbled onto some Ishbalans killing a child. You tried to stop it, but were unsuccessful. And then you were injured and attacked, but I arrived just in the nick of time!" He swung his arms about, encompassing the drama of what he had seen in a single gesture.

She swallowed and tried to concentrate, but the emotion in his voice was slipping through the sarcasm, and she was having trouble focusing on the road.

"From there it was an endless progression of secrets and affairs. We married after Ishbal, but we couldn't tell anyone because we needed to protect each other, and so we had a countless number of little trysts in closets, and of course there was a bit of blackmail and some slightly disturbing actions on your part. Then some major officer or another found out, and I found out he was working to usurp the government, and we worked together to get rid of him. You were gravely injured, but of course, you survived. I eventually became Fuehrer, we came out and told everyone about being married, and had a couple of perfect kids before dying in a most dramatic manner while protecting each other."

He sighed and slumped back against the seat, arms crossed, steadily glaring a hole into the door.

"How-" She swallowed the crack in her voice and started again. "How did you know the play was about us? They didn't actually come out and . . . "

"No. The surprise ending? That was when the playwright came out and told everyone that the whole thing had been based on two real officers in the military. And that they would know who they were."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded grimly. "There were too many coincidences. Too many little moments. Sure, they changed our names and the actors looked nothing like us, but they even managed to get Armstrong and Hughes in on it. The whole thing was a damn joke."

She looked at him uncertainly.

"It seems to have upset you quite a bit, sir."

"Damn right."

"Why?"

He sighed and met her eyes briefly, his gaze endlessly weary of this.

"Predictions. Every story can be predicted to have a happy ending; of course, it's fiction, and entertainment, and who wants an unhappy ending? And I could have guessed everything that happened in that little drama on the stage."

He paused for a minute, collecting his thoughts.

"But us? What about us, Lieutenant? Those little facsimiles got their happy ending. And in real life, it's just as easy to predict endings. With the difference that things usually don't end so well."

She let out a breath.

"Remember those equations you gave me?"

He grunted.

"You know I've never had a head for math that complex, so I gave them to Falman and told him they were strategic estimations."

"And the results?"

"The probability of you reaching your goals without anything unpleasant happening is nearly in the negatives. The chance of you dying is around seventy percent. And the chance that we both die is sixty-eight point eight nine eight percent." She had looked at those numbers for a long time.

His fist slammed into the side of the door.

"And what the _hell_ am I supposed to do about that?" he growled.

"Keep going," she announced firmly.

"With odds like _that_?" Then he realized, and she inwardly flinched.

"You left out one of the equations Lieutenant. I was very careful about that equation. What's the chance that you're still alive when this is all over?"

She didn't dare meet his eyes, but it wouldn't do much good; she still had to tell him the number.

"Four percent."

The car held all the silence of a hearse as he stared at her in absolute shock, the horror and fear in his eyes a knife in her heart. She had promised him she would watch his back, but if she left, she would hurt him more than any wound could. It was as simple as that.

His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke.

"Ninety… Ninety-six percent?"

She nodded.

"Hell." It wasn't so much of a curse as a statement. Hell. They were in hell.

Minutes passed in tense silence as he collected himself.

"I can't loose you. You know that, right?"

_I love you. You know that, right? _She heard the words he wanted her to, and she nodded.

"Yes, sir."

"Whatever happens, keep yourself safe. Don't let yourself get hurt."

He didn't say die. There really wasn't a need to tempt fate.

"You know what happens to me if you're hurt."

She locked down the pain and acknowledged his words with a nod. She knew what would happen. She had seen him shatter before.

"Under one condition."

"Huh?"

She pulled up outside of his apartment building, getting out to open the car door for him. He stepped onto the pavement and looked at her expectantly.

"Don't die. Please."

There was barely a foot of space between them. He could reach out and touch her, pull her into his arms, hold her and tell her that he wasn't going anywhere. He didn't, of course.

"Alright."

She smiled, her face soft, her eyes warm. She lifted an arm and touched his cheek, then lowered it again.

"Well then. If we both keep those promises, we'll make it," she said softly.

"And we won't have to worry about plays that don't even know the real story."

She chuckled. "Of course not."

"Goodnight, Lieutenant."

"Goodnight, Colonel."

They left each other with smiles.

_Trysts in closets_, she mused with some amusement as his reflection in the mirror waved at her departing car.

If those idiots could get their happy ending, so could they. They had promised each other, and it would be so.

And maybe, next time, she would go to the play with him. They sounded entertaining.

_Raped in the showers, indeed._

* * *

Well. This didn't quite turn out the way I wanted it to, my excuse being that I didn't know exactly where it was going, but that's about as good as it's gonna get. I've lost patience with it, though it was fun to write.

I'm going to finish a *coughtwilightcough* fic next. I'm honestly embarrassed to even associate myself with that piece of crap, but there was _potential_, and I just couldn't help it!

And that fluffy Royai piece I promised so long ago? It has finally developed into something with an actual plot line, so I'll finish that up quickie and get it out after the err… other one. The one above. _That one._

So, thanks in advance to everyone who reads my stuff. Have a cookie, since you're so awesome.

Ciao!


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